Gen. McClellan was complaining to Uncle Abe of one of his division commanders, who had literally obeyed an order publicly given for the purpose of hood-winking the rebels through the aid of the numerous undetected spies known to lurk in the camp as well as the capital.

"That reminds me of a little story—a little thing that happened to me when I was out in the Black Hawk war," said Uncle Abe.

"You see, after we brought the Foxes to terms, they were as sweet as wild honey. The women especially tried to make a good thing out of the defeat of their braves, by selling us moccasins, deerskin breeches, &c. One squaw in particular, made beautiful breeches, and I concluded to have a pair made. How she was to fit my spindles, puzzled me at first, as the Indians are no tailors in any measurable degree. At last I bethought me of an old pair which I had in my saddle bag, and these I gave to her that she might rip them open and use the parts for patterns. When she brought the new ones home, I was not a little angry to find that she had exactly imitated the old patch on the nether parts of the new breeches."

Little Mac smiled in his peculiar grave way, and remarked that when he gave an order for a similar purpose, he would tell this story by way of a hint.